Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms

by Bevan McGuiness

  ‘His name is Sondelle,’ Keshik said in response to her description next morning. ‘He is the one who … brought you back.’

  ‘Why is he doing this to me?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I will ask him.’

  ‘Be careful. He is very powerful and dangerous.’

  ‘I know, and I am always careful.’

  ‘No, you aren’t.’

  Keshik gave a short smile in acknowledgement of the truth of Maida’s words. ‘Stay here,’ he told her. ‘I need to see Drikka before I speak with this Sondelle.’

  ‘Come back before you go to see Sondelle.’

  Keshik nodded curtly before turning and leaving her alone in the garden.

  He had spent a lot of their money to buy the house for Maida and it was in a quiet part of Vogel, far from the vorbyndjaarge. To reach Drikka, he had to pass through the main commercial district and skirt the arena. As he had noticed before, there were fewer people around every day, and those who did brave the streets moved quickly and with averted eyes. No one greeted anyone, no one stopped to speak, everyone seemed to just want to get to where they were going as quickly as possible. Keshik moved at his normal rate, carefully watching, aware of his surroundings, alert for hunters.

  A low reverberation caught his attention. He looked around, trying to pinpoint its source. Down. It was coming from below. Cracks snaked across the road. Suddenly, the road erupted. Rocks, dirt, debris shot upwards. The shaking was so severe that Keshik staggered backwards and nearly lost his balance.

  A large, humanoid shape burst up from beneath the ground. It raised huge arms to the sky and bellowed in rage.

  ‘Ice and wind!’ Keshik exclaimed. Around him, people screamed, dropped their belongings and fled. In heartbeats, he was alone in the street. The thing stared down at Keshik with baleful, glowing red eyes from a height of nearly three times his own. It paused, apparently regarding the Swordmaster.

  ‘You bear my mark, little man,’ it rumbled. ‘Go and bring destruction.’

  Its eyes looked away, as if dismissing Keshik in search of someone else. Catching sight of a frightened face peering out of a window, it made a sound like grinding rock and heaved itself fully out of the ground. Standing, it was higher than the surrounding buildings. Two powerful legs, gnarled like ancient tree roots, supported the torso and two massive arms, also black and gnarled, atop which was a head without a neck. Its arms were each larger than Keshik — longer, thicker and jagged like rock. The hands were taloned. When it strode towards the pale face in the window, the ground shook. With a single swipe, it took the front wall off the building, sending the person tumbling to the ground.

  As the building started to collapse the creature bellowed again and strode away, striking at houses apparently at random. Keshik was about to follow it when he saw Duregs begin to swarm up out of the hole in the ground. Their pale skins were filthy, their large eyes squinting in the sunlight. Each one was armed, some with swords, some axes, many with simple clubs, and each one bore twin scars across their faces, from above their eyebrows down through their left eyes to finish on the right-hand jaw. Many had lost their left eye, and some had eye patches while others appeared to have painted their eyelid silver.

  Like the monster before them, they looked quickly at Keshik, saw the scars and turned away. Like the monster before them, they appeared bent on general destruction.

  ‘Many apologies, Drikka,’ Keshik muttered. ‘But I fear I will not be able to honour my commitment to meet you today.’ He turned and ran back to Maida.

  34

  Myrrhini walked slowly. The wind whistled down off the Wastes of Varuun, cutting through her clothes to send aching cold deep into her bones. She had lost track of how many days she had trudged like this. The mushrooms were gone and again she had become acquainted with the anguish of hunger. Her steps were mindless, her eyes glazed. Nothing made much sense any more. She would die soon out here in this endless icy plain where nothing grew and no one ever travelled.

  The imperative that had sent her fleeing her warm, comfortable home where she was respected and fed no longer seemed to matter. The world would end in flames and blood, or it wouldn’t — either way, she would not see it. The Scarred Man might save it all, or he might not. She stumbled again, her broken, throbbing toe caught on something and she collapsed to the hard, icy ground.

  The wind screamed over her, stirring the snow, lifting the blanket that was now permanently wrapped around her gaunt body in a vain attempt to ward off the killing cold. It was a while before she noticed that she had not been able to rouse herself and still lay face-down on the ground.

  ‘Ice and wind,’ she hissed. The irony of the curse, given her present state, was not lost on her and she tried to laugh, but the energy required was too much for her. She slipped into unconsciousness.

  An unexpected warmth made her stir. She groaned and rolled over. The sun shone on her face. Her eyes flickered open to see the sun brilliant in a clear blue sky. She stretched, sending a small pile of snow tumbling off her chest, and stood up slowly. The wind had dropped and, while the air was still cold, it was a beautiful day.

  She staggered with dizziness. No matter how good the day was, she was still weak from hunger. The exertion of getting up was almost enough to make her pass out again. She bent with extreme care, so as not to overbalance and fall, to scoop up some snow. While she sucked on the frozen water, Myrrhini stared at the risen sun and tried to decide which way was south. Stubbornly, her mind would not work. Was it that way — she turned to her left — or that way? And did it really matter any more?

  ‘No,’ she said aloud. ‘I will not just give up.’

  Myrrhini took a step, then another, and then she was walking again. The pain in her foot had lessened, although she did not know whether the injury was healing, or her foot was so numb with the cold she just could not feel it any more — such distinctions were beyond her.

  Time once more faded into insignificance as she drove her protesting, weakened body on, step after trudging step. She was distantly aware of the sun rising and the air temperature becoming warmer. Beneath her boots, the ground softened slightly as tundra grudgingly gave way to soil. At some stage after the sun reached its peak, she stumbled and fell again, not to rise.

  ‘… dead?’

  ‘Nar. Look.’

  A sharp jab in her thigh made Myrrhini groan.

  ‘Told you.’

  ‘Yar, she’s alive, but …’

  Myrrhini distantly heard a harsh chuckle and felt herself flipped over onto her back. Rough hands fumbled at her clothes, ripping them from her body until she lay exposed under the weak sun. The sudden shock of the cold air made her eyes flicker open. Through the haze of semi-consciousness and pain, she could vaguely make out two shapes looming over her.

  ‘Not bad,’ one voice said.

  ‘Yar. Bit of food, some new clothes —’ she heard the sound of an ostentatious sniff ‘— and a wash. She’ll be Mertian.’

  ‘Ha! Mertian. Look at her, you ever seen a Mertian look like that?’

  ‘You ever seen a Mertian?’

  ‘Nar.’

  ‘Me neither. But I can hope, brother mine, I can hope.’

  Rough hands wrapped her torn clothes around her and picked her up. She passed out again as she was slung over a shoulder.

  ‘Hey!’ The loud voice was accompanied by a sharp jab.

  Myrrhini stirred. ‘Go away, Onaven,’ she muttered.

  ‘Hey! Wake up!’ The voice persisted and the jab was painful.

  Myrrhini’s eyes flickered open. A large, hairy man stood over her, jabbing her with a short spear.

  ‘Nar,’ he grunted. ‘Not Onaven. Got food, but.’

  ‘Food,’ Myrrhini groaned.

  ‘Here.’

  A soft thud sounded by Myrrhini’s head. She turned to see a small leather pouch on the ground.

  ‘Eat up,’ the voice instructed her. A waterskin fell beside the food.

  Myrrhini sat
up and opened the pouch of food. It contained some nuts, dried fruit and strips of smoked meat. She ate hungrily and washed it all down with gulps of icy cold water. It all tasted slightly of leather, but to her it was a feast.

  When she was done, she looked up at the man.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  The man reached out his hand to help her to her feet. She took it gratefully and he pulled her up.

  ‘Name’s Kurush,’ he said.

  ‘Myrrhini.’

  Kurush grunted. He was dirty and scruffy, wearing worn leathers and scuffed boots that might have been brown once, and bore a well-worn sword at his hip. A dark grey cloak hung from his shoulders nearly to the ground. His hand where it had gripped Myrrhini’s was hard and calloused.

  ‘You saved me,’ Myrrhini said. Her voice was still a little scratchy from hunger and weariness.

  Kurush shook his head. ‘No, Myrrhini. I didn’t save you. Don’t waste your gratitude on me. You will learn to hate me very soon.’

  Myrrhini frowned, her mind still not working quickly enough to grasp what he meant, but when he pulled a set of manacles from beneath his cloak she cried out in shock.

  With a speed and economy of movement that spoke of much practice, Kurush snapped the manacles onto her wrists. The sudden weight of the iron chains nearly pulled her off balance and she staggered slightly forwards. Kurush caught her and groped her breasts in the process.

  ‘You are going to bring me quite a nice price in Leserlang, girl,’ he sneered. He released her and stepped back, openly looking her up and down. ‘But you will need some meat on you first.’

  Myrrhini felt strength flow out of her as despair gnawed at her spirit. She started to slump to her knees but Kurush caught her again.

  ‘Cheer up. The first stretch will be good for you. You get to ride in a wagon and eat. When you’re well enough.’ He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Well, we’ll see, won’t we?’ He lifted his gaze to someone over her shoulder. ‘Livio!’ he called. ‘Lock her up.’

  Myrrhini tried to run, but Kurush held her tight until he shoved her backwards into the arms of another man who had come up behind her.

  ‘Right then,’ the man said. ‘Into the cage with you.’

  Myrrhini was dragged away to a wagon covered in a single sheet of canvas. Livio shoved her hard into the back of the wagon, making her cry out in pain again, while he pulled aside the cover to reveal a large metal cage divided into two sections. He unlocked the door to one and opened it. Before Myrrhini had regained her breath, he had picked her up and tossed her inside. She landed heavily and slid across the wooden floor. The door slammed and the lock clunked into place.

  For a while she stayed still and silent, unable to grasp the events that had so suddenly overcome her. The wagon started to move and she heard shouts as men with whips urged on others. She lamented the weakness that had prevented her from paying attention to what was around her. How many people were there? What sort of people were they? Why were there men using whips?

  She knew she should remember something she had read, but her abused mind still refused to work.

  At least it was warmer in here and she was not walking. These were improvements. She edged her way to the front of the wagon and leaned against the bars of the cage. Might as well be comfortable.

  Myrrhini wrapped her torn clothes around her and tried to arrange the remnants of the blanket into something like a cushion to sit on. She hoped they were going south, but had no way of knowing so she allowed herself to be lulled by the rhythmic rocking. Slowly, she drifted into sleep.

  Some time later, she was awakened by the canvas covering of the cage being pulled aside. The sudden light cut across the dim and hurt her eyes. Before she could speak or react, a bowl and a waterskin were shoved in between the bars and the canvas dropped back into place. Myrrhini crawled across the wooden floor and ate hungrily. It was not quite enough, but it held the pangs of hunger far enough at bay to allow her to sleep again.

  When she awoke, she found a man standing over her. He held a package in one hand and a dagger in his other.

  ‘Up,’ he said, gesturing with the dagger.

  Myrrhini scrambled to her feet.

  He tossed the bundle at her. She caught it awkwardly.

  ‘Dress,’ the man grunted.

  He stared at her, clearly waiting for her to comply. Myrrhini swallowed hard and turned her back on him. She opened the bundle and looked at the plain grey dress, the simple boots and heavy grey robe. They were all old and showed signs of much use. She sniffed and winced at the stink of unwashed body on them.

  Myrrhini turned to face the man. ‘You expect me to wear these?’ she demanded.

  The man shrugged. ‘Don’t care,’ he said. ‘It’s that or nothing.’

  With unexpected speed and irresistible strength, he stepped forwards and grabbed the front of Myrrhini’s dress. He wrenched hard and it tore further. She screamed and grasped at the tattered remnants of her clothing, trying to cover herself. The man grunted what might have been a chuckle and wrestled her hands away, tearing and wrenching until she was totally naked. She backed away, covering herself with her hands.

  ‘Like I said. It’s that or nothing.’ He nudged the pile of old, stinking, grey clothes with his foot. ‘Your choice.’

  Myrrhini crouched at the rear of her cage until the man had left. She picked over the ruined rags that were her old clothes, hoping to find something wearable, but his destruction had been thorough. Even her underclothes were reduced to tatters.

  Feeling slightly sick, she picked up the dress and slipped it over her head. It was harsh against her skin, making her feel dirty and itchy all over. Already, she could smell herself. Choking back tears and vomit, she pulled the boots on and wrapped the robe around her shoulders before curling up in the corner of her cage furthest away from the door.

  The time passed slowly, gradually shifting into an indistinguishable blur of dim days followed by blacker than soot nights. Myrrhini’s only contact with those who ran this strange wagon was when someone threw back the cover and shoved food and water through the bars. They rarely spoke to her, rarely even looked at her. She prowled her cage restlessly, feeling increasingly agitated as fear and boredom built. Her initial misunderstanding as to the purpose of her imprisonment gave way to the sinking desperation of realisation. Slavery was never a destiny she had entertained, but as the days meandered away, her fate loomed large. She would be sold at auction somewhere in one of the southern countries like C’sobra or Lac’u and spend the rest of her life as a worthless possession to be used, abused and discarded on a whim.

  Far too much of her time was spent in quiet sobbing. She felt lost, useless and hopeless. She had no tools with which she might attempt an escape from this solitary confinement and no idea what she would do were she to achieve freedom. Despair wrestled with intense frustration and bouts of self-pitying anger.

  More than anything else, the sense of profound waste threatened to swamp her. She was the Eye of Varuun! How could she end her days as a slave, serving as some menial drudge?

  It all changed abruptly, starting with a loud altercation outside the cage. The cover was ripped off, flooding her whole world with harsh sunlight. She cowered at the rear of the cage, simultaneously terrified of what was coming and ashamed of her fear.

  A key rattled in a lock and a door swung open. Myrrhini looked up to see a man and a woman being bundled into the other cage. The woman was small with light brown hair. She wore a dress that was torn and spattered with blood. The man was bigger, wearing leathers like a fighter. They were both obviously weakened and wounded.

  The woman lay where she landed while the man lurched to his feet and started to move back towards the now closed door. He gripped the bars and shook them weakly.

  ‘You don’t know what you are doing,’ he said. His voice was harsh and rasping, as if he had not eaten or drunk in days.

  The men who had tossed them in laughed crudely and one of them jabb
ed at him with a spear.

  ‘He will find you,’ the prisoner said. He staggered back and sat heavily with his back to the bars separating the two cages. ‘And when he does, we will all die,’ he whispered.

  Myrrhini waited until the men had left and the wagon had jerked into motion before going to the bars that separated the cages. The man looked up at her, but the woman remained motionless.

  ‘Who are you?’ Myrrhini asked.

  ‘Ileki,’ the man said. He gestured at the woman. ‘The Sana Waarde.’

  ‘Sana?’ she asked.

  Ileki shrugged. ‘A title of nobility,’ he explained.

  ‘Are we captured by slavers?’ Myrrhini asked.

  Ileki scowled. ‘What did you think — a luxury tour of the beautiful Lac’un farmlands?’

  ‘I …’ Myrrhini stammered. ‘I have never left my home before. I…I hoped I was wrong.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ileki said. ‘Slavers, bound for C’sobra and the slave yards of Venste.’

  Waarde stirred. Ileki did not move, only turned his head to regard the small noblewoman.

  ‘Stupid, selfish bitch,’ he muttered. ‘You’ve killed us all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Myrrhini asked. She slid down the bars until she sat beside the man, leaning against his back, looking away from him.